


Trial of the Century

by Cantatrice18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Courtroom Drama, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 21:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7774936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At long last, the Malfoy family face a very public trial by the Wizengamot and the possibility of a lifetime in Azkaban. But when Harry Potter is presented as a witness, more will come to light than anyone expects, even Harry himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

July and August came and went, indistinguishable. The funerals had passed, one after another, and Harry had faithfully attended each one. He was always surprised by those families who welcomed his presence, who invited him to share their mourning and their remembrance of those lost in battle. He’d expected more blame, more sidelong looks as the one responsible for Voldemort’s assault on Hogwarts in the first place. Certainly he was met with distrust and suspicion by some, but the Wizarding community as a whole seemed to have decided to forgive his numerous sins and remember only his defeat of Voldemort. For this he was grateful, as it helped assuage some of the guilt he still harbored for the deaths of Fred Weasley, of Tonks and Lupin, of little Colin Creevy. They would remain with him forever, of that he was sure, never far from his mind. But seeing the joy of those who survived, watching as their world began to rebuild, gave him enough hope that he could leave Grimauld Place and begin to live his life once more. 

It was a hot and humid evening in early September, and the Weasleys had gathered for dinner in what had become a near weekly occurrence. Several heaping portions of roast chicken with gravy and corn slathered with butter later, they had all retired to mismatched chairs in the back garden, watching the stars come out one by one. Hermione and Ron shared a battered, rickety loveseat, their hands entwined. Harry could feel Ginny’s presence not far behind him, a warmth only he seemed able to sense. This particular evening they’d been joined by Andromeda Tonks, quiet and staid since the deaths of her husband and daughter, and little Teddy Lupin, whose wildly changing hair had entertained them all through the meal and who now slumbered peacefully on Mrs. Weasley’s lap. George was gone, tending to business at the shop, and Bill was away with Fleur on their long-delayed honeymoon, but in a shadowy corner by the back door stood Percy, still looking as though he were not quite certain he belonged. 

They spent a good ten minutes in comfortable silence. Then Mrs. Weasley sighed softly, running her fingers through Teddy’s hair (which was now a vivid orange). “I must say, I do love babies. I remember when mine were this age. So sweet. Why, when Ron was this size, he—“

“Mum, don’t start,” warned Ron, while the others hid grins. 

Mr. Weasley glanced over at Teddy too and smiled. “Doesn’t take them long to grow up though, and then the trouble begins. You’ll have your hands full with this little one, Andromeda.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt of that,” Andromeda replied dryly. “When Dora was two she managed to give herself hooves by mistake and couldn’t remember how to change back. Absolute nightmare.”

The others laughed. “There, you see,” commented Mr. Weasley, leaning toward his wife. “A problem we never had to deal with. I knew there had to be one.”

The paper Mr. Weasley had been perusing slipped from his lap and onto the grass, and Harry caught sight of an all-too-familiar profile on the front page. “Mr. Weasley, could I borrow this?” he asked. At Mr. Weasley’s nod he picked the paper up, opening it so that it lay flat on his lap. Before him, a large mugshot of a greasy-haired Lucius Malfoy lay just beneath a headline reading “TRIAL OF THE CENTURY”. Smaller photos of Narcissa Malfoy, haughty and proud, and Draco Malfoy, his pointed face looking incredibly shifty, flanked Lucius’s portrait. Harry leaned closer and read:

“Called by some the most devious criminal family in a generation, the last surviving members of the renowned Malfoy family will finally face justice, as they answer for their participation in what has come to be known as the Second Wizarding War. Formerly a high ranking member of the Ministry of Magic, Lucius Malfoy, 42, narrowly escaped Azkaban seventeen years ago by claiming to have been under the Imperius curse, but his swift return to You-Know-Who’s side would cast such claims into doubt, should Malfoy attempt a repeat performance of the same defense during his trial on Saturday. The charges against the family will include attempting to overthrow the government in favor of You-Know-Who and the use of Unforgivable Curses, both of which carry life sentences in Azkaban. Meanwhile the younger Malfoy faces additional charges of attempted murder and aiding You-Know-Who in the Battle of Hogwarts. Rumors are flying as to whether or not Draco Malfoy is partly responsible for the assassination of lauded headmaster Albus Dumbledore on the Hogwarts school grounds last summer. At 18, Malfoy is old enough to be tried as an adult, and to join his father in a lifetime stint in Azkaban should the Wizengamot rule against the pair. Some have suggested that the Malfoy’s offences are heinous enough to warrant the Death Penalty, a punishment that has not been used in over fifty years. One Ministry employee, who chose to remain unnamed, is quoted as saying, “If any family deserves to be wiped out, it’s the Malfoys. Dirty rotten Death Eaters, the lot of them.” As for Narcissa Black Malfoy, the family’s matriarch, not only was she witnessed at Hogwarts on the night of You-Know-Who’s demise, she is also a relative of such infamous criminals as Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange. One can only imagine the Dark magic that a witch of her lineage could provide to You-Know-Who.”

Harry set the paper down, frowning. Quite apart from the Daily Prophet still insisting on Sirius’s guilt, despite being proved wrong years ago, he found the tone of the entire article disturbing. Mr. Weasley must have noticed his expression, for he leaned over to see what Harry was reading. “Ah,” he said, spotting the picture on the cover. “The Malfoy trial.”

Ron jumped and turned around, looking from his father to Harry. “What? A trial? When?”

Hermione appeared entirely unsurprised by the news. “Of course there’s a trial. It’s this Saturday, the day after tomorrow, it’s been all over the papers for a week now.”

“You know I don’t read them,” Ron retorted. “That’s what I have you for.”

Before they could start to argue, Harry turned to Mr. Weasley and asked, “If Malfoy was underage when he committed crimes, can they still try him as an adult wizard?”

Mr. Weasley hesitated. “Well, I’m no expert in wizarding law, but I think in this case the decision was made to classify all those acts that he performed under Voldemort’s orders as adult acts.”

“And this death penalty they mention?”

“—Hasn’t been used in my lifetime,” Mr. Weasley replied. “I doubt the Wizengamot is considering it. It’s rumor mongering, that’s all.”

Harry said nothing. His thoughts were with a man, gaunt and dark haired, falling backwards through a curtained archway, never to appear again. The Prophet was wrong: the death penalty had been used, and recently. 

A sudden thought made him snap back to reality, his eyes darting over to where Andromeda sat in silence. She was Narcissa’s sister, for all that they were estranged. He skimmed the final sentences of the article once more, his brow furrowed. “They don’t give any charges,” he murmured.

“What?” Ron asked. He’d been having a whispered argument with Hermione, but paused at Harry’s words. “Who doesn’t?”

“The Wizengamot. They haven’t listed any charges against Narcissa, not that they’re reporting in the Prophet anyway. They only talk about her family’s history of Dark magic. And they’re still insisting Sirius was one of Voldemort’s followers, even after everything that’s happened.”

“Harry, think about it,” said Mr. Weasley soothingly. “The papers can’t undo everything they’ve published about Sirius for the past sixteen years without looking foolish. The right people know he was innocent, that’s what’s most important. And as for Narcissa Malfoy…” he traded glances with his wife. “I’m sure they’ll be able to come up with something to charge her with before the trial on Saturday. Voldemort made his headquarters at Malfoy Manor, after all.”

“I don’t think that was her idea,” said Hermione. Harry noticed that Ron had his arm around her and had pulled her close at the mention of Malfoy Manor. “She certainly didn’t seem happy, having Fenrir and the snatchers in and out all the time.”

“Probably worried they’d get dirt on her perfect rugs,” said Ron scornfully. “I don’t know why you care, Harry. That whole family’s tried to kill us a dozen times. Better to lock them up before they do any more damage.”

“She didn’t kill me, though, and she could have,” remarked Ginny thoughtfully. The others turned to look at her, and she shrugged. “At Hogwarts. I was just leaving the Room of Requirement to go help the others, and I ran into her at the end of the corridor. I was ready to ward off an attack, but she just shoved past me and continued down the hallway, calling for Draco.”

“Probably didn’t recognize you,” Ron reasoned. “Or maybe she’d just gotten cold feet.”

Harry turned to Andromeda, suddenly nervous. “What did you think of her? When—when you knew her, I mean.”

The tension doubled, as everyone held their breath. Andromeda’s face had an odd, closed expression. Finally she spoke. “It’s difficult to say. People can change, over time, and I haven’t spoken to her in over twenty-five years. But the Narcissa I knew was a follower, never a fighter. She clung to Bellatrix like a shadow, tolerating her many cruelties and using her as a shield when our father would fly into a rage.” Andromeda’s eyes grew sad. “Our house was never safe. I can hardly blame Narcissa for being drawn to those she felt were best able to protect her. I imagine her sudden marriage to Lucius, just after finishing school, was for that reason. He was strong and capable, fiercely protective of her, and able to keep her in comfort and safety. And of course, he was a pure-blood.” Andromeda smiled mirthlessly. “She always did love the finer things in life, Narcissa did. I was surprised when I first heard she’d had a child. After eight years of marriage, I’d assumed she wouldn’t want something to take care of herself, something to take her husband’s attention away from her. They’d waited so long, after all.”

“They hadn’t,” came a quiet voice from by the door. Everyone turned to look at Percy, who had trained his gaze firmly on the sky even as he fiddled with his horn-rimmed glasses. “The—the Minister told me. Fudge. He was part of an unveiling ceremony for a new wing at St. Mungo’s, and he told me in confidence, since the Malfoys were such large donors to the hospital. They’d tried to have a child several years earlier, but Mrs. Malfoy miscarried and nearly bled to death. It was only the healers at St. Mungos that saved her. And when she had Draco, the hospital sent a healer to her a full three days before the birth, just to be sure. That’s why Lucius Malfoy makes it a point to donate a thousand galleons every February, and another thousand in June. To remember his first son’s death and the birth of his second.”

There was a long silence that followed this pronouncement. Andromeda looked thunderstruck, while Mrs. Weasley’s eyes were suspiciously wet. Harry could feel a gap open up between the younger generation, those without children, and the older members of their group. Before he could manage to find something to say, a large barn owl swooped down out of the darkness, landing gracefully on the arm of his chair and peering at him with its dark eyes. Startled, it took a moment for Harry to spot the tightly wound scroll of parchment attached to the owl’s leg. He carefully undid the ties and slipped the message into his hand, spreading it out and holding it up to the lantern to read it.

_Dear Mr. Potter—  
Your testimony as a Witness is requested in court on September the twelfth, in order to ascertain the guilt or innocence of members of the Malfoy family. Please present yourself at ten minutes to noon on the ground floor of the Wizengamot chambers. ___


	2. Chapter 2

Harry smoothed the front of his robes, wishing he’d bothered to buy new ones on his last trip to Diagon Alley. After the owl had delivered its message, the whole dinner party had gone into a flurry of activity, with Ron and Ginny arguing over what the court might want Harry to say, Hermione reciting everything she remembered about Wizengamot procedure, and Mr. Weasley advising him to say nothing to the court unless asked, for fear of incriminating himself. “After everything that happened, Voldemort’s death and all, they ought to take your word at face value. Still, I wouldn’t put it past the court to try and pin some of the Order’s more dubious dealings on you. They did spend a good three years vilifying you in the papers after all, and it would make a great story.”

Harry had not slept that night, and had kept to himself the day after. He couldn’t help but remember his own trial before a hostile Wizengamot three summers ago, nor could he forget the faces of the accused Death Eaters whose trials he’d witnessed in Dumbledore’s pensieve. None of the Death Eaters’ trials had used witnesses, however. Would he be asked to explain what had happened in the forest, when Voldemort’s curse had backfired for the second time? He’d avoided talking about that night, ignoring requests for comment from a dozen different reporters. Even his friends had refrained from pressing him, respecting his privacy. He did not relish the prospect of reliving that night in front of a packed court. He didn’t know what the Wizengamot expected him to say, and he resented being asked at the last minute. He had half a mind not to turn up, but the last thing he needed was an excuse for the Ministry to haul him in on charges of Contempt of Court. 

Now, as he pinned a visitor’s badge to the front of his robes (Harry Potter, Trial Witness), he couldn’t help but notice the buzz of anticipation that seemed to fill the halls of the Ministry. The feeling got stronger as he took the lift down to the courtroom. It was as though everyone in the building was awaiting some momentous event, like a championship quidditch match. As the doors of the lift opened, Harry stepped out into a long hallway and was immediately jostled to one side by a cameraman and a male reporter in fluorescent orange robes. He was speaking rapidly in the direction of his wand, holding it as though it were a microphone, but Harry couldn’t hear whatever it was he was saying because the hall was filled with witches and wizards of all ages and appearances, every one of them clamoring to enter the courtroom at the far end. Harry swallowed hard and pressed himself against one wall, inching his way along it until he finally reached the courtroom door. In front of it stood a harried looking Ministry wizard, his wand out and his stance braced as though he expected someone might attack him at any time. “I’ve told you all,” he shouted, “Only those with Ministry or Press credentials, no exceptions. You’ll all read about it in the paper tonight, so just go home!”

No one in the crowd seemed to care about his instructions, all of them still pushing and shoving one another to get through. “I’m with Wizarding World Weekly,” cried a snaggle-toothed old man, shaking an obviously homemade badge at the harried Ministry wizard. “My brother’s an Obliviator, and he said I could come,” yelled a boy several years younger than Harry, who wore a pouting expression remarkably similar to the one Dudley Dursley had worn for a good fifteen years of his life. Harry stepped forward and tapped the Ministry wizard firmly on the shoulder. “What is it?” snapped the wizard, glaring at Harry. His expression changed at once when he spotted Harry’s scar. His jaw dropped open slightly, and he appeared to lose his train of thought, staring vacantly at Harry’s forehead. Rather than attract further attention, Harry leaned in and pointed at his silver badge. “Where should witnesses go?”

The wizard pointed mutely at a plain black door to the left. Harry nodded his thanks and slipped back through the crowd, stumbling through the door as an enthusiastic witch whacked him with her handbag. The moment the door closed behind him, all noise from the hallway ceased. Rubbing his shoulder where the witch had hit him, he looked around. The room was plain and windowless, with torches placed every yard or so along the stone walls. A line of high-backed wooden chairs rested against the far wall, and beside them another arched door led, Harry knew, into the courtroom itself. The door to the courtroom had no handle, only solid wood, and Harry glanced behind him to see that the door through which he had entered was the same way. Another pair of wizards were already seated in the nearest chair to the door: a silver-haired man with wrinkles around his eyes and mouth and an aloof expression, and a short, squat man in plum purple whose plump cheeks almost entirely obscured his eyes. They were talking quietly among themselves when Harry entered, but stopped and looked up when they heard the door close. Harry ignored them, taking the seat at the far end and staring determinedly at the blank grey wall in front of him. A moment later the door to the courtroom opened and a young witch of about Harry’s age wearing black robes entered. There was a long chain with an ornate silver key hanging from around her neck like a pendant, and she held a tapered ebony staff capped in silver on either end. “Ah, good. You’re all here on time,” she said, looking the two wizards and Harry over with keen blue eyes. Her gaze lingered on Harry a second longer than it did on the others, but she at least did not lose her composure the way the wizard guarding the court chambers had. “The trial will begin momentarily. When it is your turn to present evidence, I myself will come retrieve you and lead you into the courtroom. Answer all questions posed as truthfully as you are able. Once the court is finished with you, you are free to go. Is that clear?”

Harry nodded, as did the others. “Excellent,” said the witch. Without another word, she spun on her heel and left, shutting the courtroom door and leaving them in silence once more. 

The minutes stretched onward. Harry tried to imagine what was going on in the courtroom on the other side of the wall. Would all three Malfoys be tried together, the way he’d seen Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange tried along with Barty Crouch Jr. in the pensieve so long ago? A noise at the door made him jump, but it was only the black-robed witch. She motioned to the haughty, elderly wizard, who followed her into the courtroom. Harry noticed the key around her neck glow as she passed through the doorway, and realized there must be a locking spell in place to keep reluctant witnesses from escaping before they had given testimony. The portly wizard noticed Harry’s gaze and smiled, his eyes disappearing completely in rolls of fat. “First trial as a witness?” he asked kindly.

Harry nodded jerkily. “Not to worry,” the man assured him. “If you answer the questions as best you can, it will be over before you know it. This case in particular shouldn’t take long, for all the fuss the Daily Prophet has made over it.”

“You think not?” asked Harry, surprised. “You think they’ll get off, then?”

“Who, the Malfoys?” the portly wizard laughed, his stomach bouncing with the motion. “Not a chance. Nor should they, in my opinion. Oh, Lucius will try to weasel his way out, but it won’t work, not this time.”

“But you’re a witness,” said Harry, shocked at the wizards nonchalance.

“Yes, and a good one, if I do say so myself,” the man replied. “Sentinorus Hotzu, that’s the Deputy Secretary for Law Enforcement Procedures, always calls me in for the Prosecution when the moneyed pureblood families are involved. Well, it pays to be on the board at Gringotts, let me tell you. I get a lovely thank-you with a gift basket of imported Hungarian sweets each time my testimony wins a case, as well. So thoughtful.”

“And the other wizard,” Harry asked, pointing to the courtroom door. “He’s here for the prosecution as well?”

“Naturally,” the man replied. “Mr. Heradis is a foremost expert in the identification of dark objects, and has thoroughly examined the contents of Malfoy Manor, as well as the sizable cache of treasures in their Gringotts vault. But you seem surprised. Did you think you’d be the only witness?”

Before Harry could formulate an answer, the courtroom door opened and the witch in black entered the room once more. There was no sign of Mr. Heradis, and Harry assumed he must have left through the main entrance. “Your turn, Mr. Selinor,” the witch said calmly.

The portly man rose, smoothing the front of his plum robes and running a hand through his hair. “Time to get to work,” he said, following the witch to the door. “Good luck to you, young man,” he called back over his shoulder.

As the door swung closed behind them, Harry abruptly stood and began to pace. There had to be another room for witnesses. There was no way he was the sole witness for the entire Malfoy family. What did they expect him to say that could possibly be enough to save a family of Dark wizards from Azkaban? And anyway, who said he wanted to get the Malfoys off? After all they’d done over the years, the taunts and cruelty of Draco at Hogwarts, the prejudice and snobbery of Narcissa, and of course the outright attacks of Lucius as he hid beneath his Death Eater mask, Harry could find little reason to keep them from a fate they so roundly deserved. Still, he wanted to know what was happening in the courtroom. What sort of defense were the Malfoys presenting? Harry stalked over to the door, running his hands over its edges looking for cracks or holes to give him leverage. He tried leaning against it with his shoulder to see if it might swing outward, but to no avail. Finally, he was forced to admit defeat. Resting his palms against the door, he felt his forehead touch the cold wood. If only there were some way to hear, some way that he wouldn’t be seen eavesdropping, but could still find out what was going on. Then he froze, a sudden idea flashing through his mind. He dug through his pockets, searching. If Mrs. Weasley had washed his robes, they might have fallen out, but just maybe…

His fingers closed on a long rubbery string, and he smiled in triumph, pulling one of Fred and George’s extendable ears out of his pocket. It was old, one of the first the twins had made, and the thought sent a wave of sadness coursing through him, but he pushed the feeling aside for the moment and worked on untangling the cord. A minute later it was free, and as he lay the end down on the cold stone floor the entire thing wriggled like an inchworm until an inch of it had slipped beneath the door. Hands trembling, he slid the other end into his ear. 

At once the sounds from the courtroom were as clear as if he were standing in the middle of it. A voice Harry recognized as the portly wizard’s said pleasantly “—and transactions after that were authorized by none other than Bellatrix Lestrange, who, as I’ve said, was added to the account by Lucius Malfoy himself a year ago.”

“That will be all,” intoned a cold, male voice that Harry did not recognize. “At this time, there appears to be little evidence that Lucius Malfoy attempted to subvert the control of his admitted ‘Master’, Lord Voldemort. His willingness to name others in Lord Voldemort’s inner circle will be taken into account, but as many of those names are no longer revelations, that information must be taken purely at face value. For now, let us turn our attention to our next case. Draco Lucius Malfoy, you stand accused of swearing allegiance to Lord Voldemort, of attempting the assassination of Albus Dumbledore, and of repeated use of the Unforgivable Curses. Do you deny these charges?”

“I didn’t—“

Harry could hear the fear in Malfoy’s voice. The sound gave him momentary pleasure, but he ignored it, listening closer. “You deny that you were Lord Voldemort’s servant, when traces of his mark remain on your arm?” the cold voice demanded.

“No, but I—“

“Do you deny that you made attempts on the life of Albus Dumbledore?”

“No, but—“

“Do you deny using the Unforgivable Curses?” 

“Not all of them!” Malfoy cried, his voice harsh with desperation.

“Not all?” the cold voice remarked, and Harry could practically hear the disdain dripping from the man’s words. “How lovely. Which, might I ask, did you feel inclined to skip?”

“I never killed anyone,” Malfoy said sullenly. “And I only used the Imperius curse once.”

“Ah, I see,” said the cold voice. “Just once. How comforting. Well, that leaves only one curse left. Our sources say that you took particular pride in your use of the Cruciatus curse.”

“Not pride,” Malfoy whispered. “I just—“

“Were you, or were you not Lord Voldemort’s personal torturer?” the cold voice asked.

Malfoy shuddered audibly. “It wasn’t my fault, he made me—“

“To what purpose?” asked the cold voice. “Surely Lord Voldemort was capable of torturing his own victims, as he proved time and again throughout the years. Why use your skills, unless you had a particular talent for it? Unless you enjoyed it?”

“No!” Malfoy yelled, his voice echoing off the chamber walls. Harry could hear murmurs, and remembered that the courtroom was packed with spectators and jurors alike. “No, I could never…”

There was a long pause, and then: “The Chair recognizes the Assistant Secretary of Law Enforcement, Dolores Jane Umbridge.”

A gratingly familiar voice filled Harry’s ears and he felt a knot of rage beneath his breastbone. “Thank you, Chairman. If it pleases the court, I think we all would like to hear from Master Malfoy just who exactly he used the Cruciatus curse on.” Umbridge sounded gleeful, even excited. “If he names his targets, then this court can judge if those people are real victims or, well…”

She trailed off, but Harry understood her meaning. If Draco’s crimes had been solely against other Death Eaters, then he was safe. If he’d used the curse on anyone else, then the full weight of the law would come down upon him. It was a neat and tidy solution, but Harry knew that Umbridge’s motivations were less about justice and more about show. She was hoping for someone high profile, a victim the newspapers could use to vilify Malfoy even further. The Wizengamot seemed to agree with her, however, and the Chairman’s cold voice returned. “The Assistant Secretary’s motion is accepted. By order of the court, name those upon whom you performed the Cruciatus curse.”

The room fell silent, waiting on pins and needles. Malfoy took a deep breath. “There was Avery,” he began, hesitatingly. “Nott…”

“Go on,” the Chairman prodded.

“Rookwood,” Malfoy whispered. “Dolohov. Wormtail. And…”

He broke off. “And?” the Chairman insisted. “There was one more victim. Name them.”

“No,” said Malfoy. “Please, don’t make me. I’ll take whatever punishment, I don’t care, but please, don’t make me!”

There was a sudden clanking of chains, and Harry wondered if Malfoy might be trying to break free. Excited whispers filled the courtroom. “Enough,” cried the Chairman. “Speak, or this court will hold you in contempt.”

“Stop it,” came a commanding female voice that Harry recognized. “He’s told you what you need to know.”

“Narcissa Black Malfoy,” said the Chairman icily. “It is not your place to speak until your own charges have been read. Remain silent, or face a thirty day sentence in Azkaban for your interference.”

“Forgive my interruption,” came Umbridge’s girlish voice once again, “But as Master Malfoy seems peculiarly devoted to his family, might the threat of an Azkaban sentence for all three motivate him to reveal the information he is withholding?”

Harry’s jaw was clenched so tightly with anger that he was afraid his teeth might crack. The court was tittering gleefully. “Draco Malfoy,” the Chairman proclaimed. “Reveal your last victim, or your entire family shall face a month in Azkaban for contempt, in addition to whatever punishment their own crimes merit them.”

“I can’t,” pleaded Malfoy. “I can’t say it, I can’t,”

“Two months in Azkaban,” intoned the Chairman.

“He made me do it,” Malfoy’s voice shook with desperation. “I never would have, not ever, I swear it.”

“Six months,” the Chairman proclaimed. “Speak, or it will be a year.”

“Mother,” Malfoy let out a moan. “I’m so sorry, I—“

“It’s alright,” Harry heard Narcissa murmur. “Tell them the truth.”

Malfoy took a deep, shuddering breath. “The last victim was…my mother.” Shocked whispers followed this pronouncement, but Malfoy didn’t seem to care. “The Dark Lord ordered it. He watched me do it. He laughed…” Malfoy’s voice broke, and he began to sob. 

By now the courtroom was so full of whispered conversation that Harry almost missed the quiet, hoarse voice of Lucius Malfoy in all the turmoil. “You never said,” Lucius murmured, sounding more emotional than Harry had ever heard him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What was there to say?” replied Narcissa stiffly. “It’s over now.”

It took the Wizengamot another full minute to regain its composure. When the cold voice of the Chairman finally returned, it addressed Narcissa, not Draco. “Is this true?”

Narcissa said nothing, but she must have nodded, because the mutters began once more. “Silence,” the Chairman’s voice cried. “In light of this information, it is clear that we must turn our attention to the case against Narcissa Black Malfoy before the case against Draco Malfoy can be complete. The charges against her are: Allegiance to Lord Voldemort, sheltering Lord Voldemort and his followers, and participation in the Battle of Hogwarts. Her guilt or innocence will determine the fate of herself and her son.”

Harry inhaled sharply, realizing what the cold voice must mean. If Narcissa was found to be a Death Eater, then Draco Malfoy’s use of the Cruciatus curse upon her could be forgiven. However, if found innocent, she would escape Azkaban herself, but condemn her own son in the process. It was an impossible situation. 

Out in the courtroom, silence reigned once again. “Narcissa Black Malfoy, did you or did you not swear allegiance to Lord Voldemort?”

“I—“ Narcissa seemed at a loss. 

“Do you bear Lord Voldemort’s mark?”

“…I do not,” Narcissa admitted.

“Do you confess to housing Lord Voldemort and his followers, including escaped convicts, for the past two years.”

“Yes…” breathed Narcissa.

“And were you, or were you not, among Lort Voldemort’s followers during the Battle of Hogwarts?”

“I…was.”

By now the excitement in the courtroom had reached a fever pitch. The members of the Wizengamot could sense the end of the trial nearing, and could practically smell a conviction. 

“Do you have anything else to present in your own defense before judgment is passed upon you, your husband, and your son?” asked the Chairman.

“I do,” Narcissa replied. She seemed, quite suddenly, very calm. “I ask that the court allow one final witness.”

Harry jumped, then scrambled to his feet, pulling the extendable ear out from under the door and stuffing it into his pocket. He barely had time to dust off his robes before the door swung open and the witch in black appeared. From behind her he heard the cold voice intone, “The court recognizes Harry James Potter.”


	3. Chapter 3

Harry followed the black-robed witch out into the courtroom, blinking slightly in the light. The entire cavernous room was lit up with torches and candelabras, and above them all hung an imposing iron chandelier. In the center of the room sat three chairs, each wrapped in silver chains and each tightly binding a prisoner in place. Lucius Malfoy was farthest to the left, Draco in the center, with Narcissa nearest to Harry. None of them looked directly at him as he entered, though Harry caught Draco’s eyes flickering his way once or twice. Lucius looked as though he hadn’t noticed Harry’s arrival at all, while Narcissa stared straight ahead at the first row of the gallery. Harry followed her gaze and noted the presence of a tall, thin man in his fifties with closely cropped black hair and a severe expression, standing at a central podium. Beside him sat Dolores Umbridge, noxious in a pink cardigan as usual, her toadlike face smug as she surveyed the scene below. Around them, dozens of witches and wizards in red robes sat in rows, and behind them Ministry officials and reporters crowded into the last sets of benches. The black-haired man gazed down at Harry with interest, his brows raised. “You are willing to testify on behalf of the Malfoy family?” he asked doubtfully.

“Yes,” Harry replied, with more conviction than he felt. Having Umbridge’s eyes on him helped, he decided. Next to her, even the Malfoys were palatable.

“Very well. Let us begin. You and Draco Malfoy were classmates at Hogwarts?”

“Yes,” Harry repeated.

“And during your time at Hogwarts School, you and Draco Malfoy became friends?”

“No, we hated each other,” Harry blurted out, wincing internally. Then, feeling as though he should do things properly, he added, “We were in different houses. We did not see eye to eye.”

“I see,” said the Chairman, his eyebrows going even higher. “May I ask, then, what your relationship with Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy entails, since you clearly have no attachment to their son?”

Harry glanced at Draco’s parents, both of whom now sat staring woodenly straight ahead. “I wouldn’t say I have a relationship with either of them.” This was not, strictly speaking, true, as Lucius had made many attempts over the years to harm Harry or his friends, and had nearly gotten Mr. Weasley fired on multiple occasions. “I think it is fair to say that we are not on good terms.”

“Indeed,” the chairman remarked, his eyebrows now nearing his hairline. “What, then, makes you their sole choice of witness on this momentous occasion?”

“Well,” said Harry, “I’m less likely to lie for any of them, since none of us get along.”

He heard one or two titters from the gallery. Umbridge leaned in and whispered something to the Chairman, making Harry’s blood boil. The Chairman straightened, a curious expression on his face. “The Assistant Secretary has just reminded me of the second charge against Mr. Draco Malfoy, which was carelessly overlooked several minutes ago. According to your own accounts, you were present the night of Albus Dumbledore’s murder. Is this true?”

“I was there when he died, yes,” Harry replied. He knew this was no time to go into explanations, and there was little harm in letting the public believe Snape’s guilt, but it still galled him to lie.

“Could you walk us through the events of that night, as pertains to Mr. Malfoy? Be as specific as you can.”

Harry thought a moment. “When Dumbledore saw the Dark Mark hanging over the highest tower at Hogwarts, he borrowed a pair of brooms from the village pub. The two of us flew to the tower. The moment we landed, Dumbledore knew something was wrong. He cast a full body bind over me, keeping me from helping him if it came to a fight. I was under an invisibility cloak, so no one knew I was there. Malfoy—Draco came and disarmed Dumbledore. He said…he admitted to letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts. He threatened to kill Dumbledore. When Dumbledore asked why, he said that if he failed in his mission Voldemort would murder his family.” Harry took a deep breath, unexpectedly emotional at the memory of that night. “Dumbledore offered Malfoy safety. He said the Order of the Phoenix could hide Malfoy and his mother, protect them from Voldemort. Malfoy lowered his wand. When other Death Eaters arrived, he was still unable to kill Dumbledore, despite the pressure the others put on him.” Harry glanced at Draco, who looked very pale as he stared at the floor, and turned back to the Wizengamot. “I believe that, had the other Death Eaters not arrived, Draco Malfoy would have allowed Dumbledore to help him and his family escape Voldemort’s clutches. Regardless, the fact is that he was unwilling or unable to murder Dumbledore, despite his master’s orders.”

The Chairman turned to Draco Malfoy. “Is this true?”

Malfoy nodded miserably. Harry noticed that he was avoiding his father’s eye, but far from looking disapproving, Lucius Malfoy seemed to have aged backwards five years, his expression full of relief. The Chairman turned back to Harry. “Apart from that, what other insight do you have to offer?”

“Well, I…” He paused, thinking back to his brief, forced stay at Malfoy Manor. “I can tell you that the Malfoys didn’t always appreciate their home being used for Voldemort’s headquarters. I doubt they had much choice in the matter in the first place.”

“This is your opinion?” asked the Chairman. Harry nodded. “I see. Anything else?”

Harry looked over at the Malfoys. Lucius and Draco wore identical expressions as they braced themselves for judgment, but Narcissa’s eyes were wide and pleading as she stared at him. She was trembling, almost imperceptibly, her nails digging into the arms of her chair even as the chains held her down, and Harry suddenly understood why she’d called him as a witness. He sighed inwardly. After so many weeks of avoiding the Ministry and the media, it was time to speak out about the night Voldemort died. As much as he hated admitting it, even to himself, he owed Narcissa Malfoy a debt of honor. Turning back to the Chairman, he said, “One final thing. Regarding the Battle of Hogwarts, you accuse Narcissa Malfoy of aiding Voldemort and his Death Eaters?”

“That is the charge, until this court hears differently,” the Chairman responded.

“Then hear this,” said Harry. “Without Narcissa Malfoy, there would be no victory at the Battle of Hogwarts to memorialize. Voldemort’s forces would have won, hundreds more students and civilians would have been killed, and this court itself would have no standing under the Dark Lord’s false government.”

The room filled with murmurs. Harry could spot several reporters in the back scribbling wildly, their quills flying back and forth. He decided that, if some version of the truth had to be told, he would make it a good one. At this point, he had no reason to hold back his version of events, and if he left out a detail that could change the Wizengamot’s mind and save Narcissa, he would have to deal with yet another burden of guilt. The Chairman called the court to order, then peered at Harry, his eyes alight with interest. “Explain,” he demanded.

“Gladly.” Harry took a step closer to Narcissa and the other Malfoys. “When Voldemort attacked me in the Dark Forest at Hogwarts, his spell rebounded in much the same way it had when I was a year old. In this case, both of us collapsed from the force of the spell. At that time there were Death Eaters all around me. I had no chance of escape. My only hope was to play dead, and hope that Voldemort and his followers lost track of me in the celebration that followed. If they had discovered I was alive, I have no doubt that I would have met a gruesome and ignoble fate at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort’s more sadistic followers.” He paused for effect. The entire chamber was hanging on his every word. Even Umbridge appeared rapt. “I waited on the forest floor, knowing that Voldemort would want to check that I was dead, trying to slow my heartbeat, to remain as still as possible. I heard Voldemort bark out an order, and a woman’s cry of pain. Then someone approached me, kneeling by my side.” He snuck a glance at Draco, who was staring from Harry to his mother with his mouth open. “Narcissa felt my heartbeat. She knew I still lived, knew I had survived Voldemort’s second Killing Curse. She could have revealed my deception then and there, earned favor from her master. But she did not. Instead she turned to Voldemort and lied, proclaiming me dead and protecting me long enough for me to make my escape. Were it not for her, I might never have left that clearing alive.”

He allowed his words to sink in, his eyes scanning the Wizengamot from one side of the courtroom to the other. The story was a bit exaggerated, to be sure, but all the facts were there. Umbridge was conversing in low tones with the chairman, her bulging toad eyes alight with malice. The Chairman gestured to her and she stood. “I find it difficult to believe that a Death Eater, or even just the wife of a Death Eater, would change her allegiance so swiftly, particularly to a wizard as young and, forgive me, unpredictable as yourself. Surely she had another reason, an ulterior motive.”

Harry glared at her. “She knew that her son was in Hogwarts castle,” he admitted.

Umbridge smiled, her face stretching to either side. “Then clearly her motivation was personal, and not a grand shifting of allegiance from one side to the other.”

“You’d have to ask her,” replied Harry through clenched teeth.

As one, the Wizengamot turned its attention back to Narcissa. “Well?” asked the Chairman eagerly. “Is what Potter says true? Did you lie to Lord Voldemort, and if so, to what end?”

Narcissa was so pale she resembled a corpse, her long white-blonde hair the only hint of color on her person. “I lied, yes,” she said stiffly. “I did it for my son, and for Potter’s sake. I just—“ she looked away, eyes cast downward. “I wanted it over,” she finished quietly. “One way or another.”

More conversing, then, “Let us put it to a vote,” said the Chairman. “All those in favor of a term of imprisonment for Narcissa Malfoy…” Hands went up around the room. “And those against?” More hands. Harry struggled to count them, but he needn’t have. “The nays have it,” announced the Chairman. Harry thought he sounded a bit disappointed. “This means,” he said, brightening up a bit, “that in the case of Draco Malfoy, his use of the Cruciatus Curse upon Narcissa Malfoy no longer constitutes an attack against a fellow Death Eater. I therefore recommend the full punishment for use of the Unforgivable Curses, a term of imprisonment in Azkaban lasting no less than—“

“You can’t!” Narcissa cried, her expression suddenly quite crazed. “He’s innocent, he’s done nothing wrong!”

“He has confessed to the crime,” the Chairman rejoined.

“There was no crime. I—“ she shivered. “I asked for it. I wanted him to do it.”

The courtroom froze, staring. Even Harry was shocked. “You… wanted it?” said the Chairman, incredulous. 

Narcissa nodded. “I did.”

A witch in the second row made a little tutting noise of disbelief, while her neighbor shook his head. They were not alone. Many in the courtroom looked doubtful, even contemptuous as they surveyed the chained Narcissa Malfoy. “Hem hem,” came Umbridge’s unmistakable cough. “Surely, Mrs. Malfoy, you are not suggesting that you ordered your own son to perform the Cruciatus curse upon you, a curse so dangerous it can drive the strongest witches and wizards to insanity?”

“Depravity,” Harry heard a grey-haired wizard behind the Chairman mutter in disgust. “Degenerates, the lot of them.”

“—just like her sister,” came a high whisper from a witch on the far left. 

Harry glared at the court. “Give her a chance to explain herself.”

The Chairman nodded. “By all means.” Harry was close enough to hear him mutter, “This ought to be good,” to the wizard behind him as he took a seat.

Narcissa was shaking, but her voice was steady as she began to speak. “The Dark Lord called me to the drawing room at the Manor. Draco was already there. He—the Dark Lord—seemed neither pleased nor displeased. There was never a way to tell, with him.” She shuddered, then continued. “The Dark Lord began to list all of our family’s failures, the times we had disappointed him. When he had finished, he gave Draco a choice: repair the family honor by submitting to the Dark Lord’s punishment, or punish me himself for the actions of our family.” Her nails dug into the arms of the chair. “I could not bear to watch my son suffer. I begged him to choose me, to torture me. The Dark Lord laughed, then, and ordered me to kneel. Draco was shaking, and I feared he would try to run. I grabbed him by the wrist, forcing him to point his wand at my heart. I commanded him to use the curse on me. Then—“

She broke off, her face momentarily twisted with the memory of pain. “It did not last long,” she said, once she had composed herself. “The Dark Lord grew bored, I think. He permitted Draco to help me back to my rooms. It was only when we were safely alone that Draco allowed himself to break down. He was so brave.”

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who looked as though he were about to be sick. Lucius wore a look of utmost horror as he stared at his wife. Narcissa was not finished. “It was never my son’s choice to torture, not once. Only the threat of harm to me or to his father made him obey the Dark Lord’s orders.” There was a bitter tone to her voice. “It was his reluctance that made him the Dark Lord’s favorite tool. Why torture one follower when you can torture two? And from the moment the Dark Lord forced my son to turn his wand on me, he knew he’d ensured Draco’s obedience forever. The idea of having to repeat the experience, or worse, of being forced to kill me, kept my son from attempting to escape.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears, but she remained motionless in her chair. “Please,” she said calmly. “My son is not a killer. He is not a monster. Everything he has done has been in self-preservation, or to protect his family from harm. Until you have faced down the Dark Lord yourself, you cannot possibly know the strength it takes to simply survive.”

She fell silent, bowing her head. The Chairman stood. “All those in favor of Draco Malfoy’s incarceration for his crimes, show of hands.” 

The number of hands was larger than it was for Narcissa, close to half. “And those against?” More hands went up. The wizard who had called Narcissa “degenerate” was the last to raise his hand, his expression grave. “By three votes, the court rules against incarceration,” the Chairman recited. Harry saw Narcissa slump back in her chair, exhausted. “This leaves only Lucius Malfoy,” said the Chairman. “By providing the names of twelve of his fellow Death Eaters, he has given the Ministry an advantage in their search for Lord Voldemort’s remaining followers. However, his escape from Azkaban and subsequent return to Lord Voldemort’s side suggests responsibility for his actions. Still, as it has been proven that he was wandless for most of the Second Wizarding War, and that he did not participate actively in the Battle of Hogwarts, the Chair recommends a commuted sentence, provided Lucius Malfoy continues to aid in the capture and trials of other Death Eaters. All in favor?” Hands rose. “Motion passed,” the Chairman said. “I now decree this trial complete.”

The chains binding the Malfoys to their throne-like chairs glowed, falling away until they encircled only the chair once more. The hall filled at once with the buzz of excited conversation. Harry spied several reporters running for the door, no doubt wanting to be the first to break the story of the Malfoys’ acquittal, while a trio of reporters and their haggard looking cameraman were already bearing down on the three Malfoys. Harry retreated to the shadows, searching around for a way out that wouldn’t lead him through crowds of noisy people. To his surprise, he saw Draco and Narcissa Malfoy do the same. Lucius had headed off the reporters and was answering questions in the unctuous, bored tone of someone who knew he was entirely above the law. Draco’s shoulders tensed as he led his mother out of camera view. He barely glanced at Harry, his jaw set. Harry, who had hardly expected thanks, spotted the door through which he’d entered and walked purposefully along the back wall toward the exit. He had only gone a few steps when a light hand on his sleeve made him pause and look back. Narcissa Malfoy stood behind him, lips barely parted as though unsure of what to say. There was an awkward silence. Then Harry smiled wryly. “It’s alright. I know we aren’t friends. Consider us even.”

Narcissa’s hand dropped to her side as though she’d been burned. Her face resumed the haughty stare he recognized from the first time they’d met, and she gave him a single curt nod. Glancing at the swarm of reporters that was growing larger by the second, she ran a quick hand through her hair and walked purposefully across the hall to join her husband. A moment later, Draco was at their side. Harry watched the group of them for a long minute, wondering whether the aristocratic trio in front of the cameras could possibly be the same as the frightened, broken family he’d seen moments before. He didn’t relish the prospect of reading Lucius Malfoy’s words in the paper that evening, or of explaining to the Weasleys and Hermione why he’d helped a family as vile as the Malfoys escape Azkaban. Still, he’d done the right thing. That had to count for something.

With quick, light steps, he made his way through the black, handleless door, across the witness waiting room, and out into the hallway. He was halfway out of the building before anyone seemed to realize he was gone. He pretended not to hear when people began calling out his name, instead focusing on what he would ask Kreacher to make for dinner that night. For once, he decided, he wanted to spend the night alone with his thoughts. There would be plenty of time to answer questions later. He’d had quite enough of people for that day.


End file.
